Semantics
by Mardahin
Summary: Two very different approaches to the long-term relationship. Timothy & Jonathon, who fell in love first and learned to live with each other after the fact, and Cole & Cooper, who were friends before they were...Whatever it was they eventually became.
1. Not Boyfriends CC Focus

Author's Note: This first piece was written at the prompting of a friend, who pointed out (very astutely) that the characters of Cole and Cooper from "Were the World Mine" had a notably ambiguous resolution to their interlude while under the influence of the Pansy(TM). Not only were they the only pairing to have a love scene in the film, but unlike the rest of the couples who were temporarily paired off, when the spell is lifted they are neither awkward nor uncomfortable with each other. Thus, this story was born. It has since spawned both a sequel and a universe (likely to total out somewhere between 4-6 fics in the end). Many thanks to the various parties who have had a hand at looking this over, as well as those who have decided to cheerlead. For everyone's convenience, I'll be publishing the stories both independently and in a combined edition titled "Semantics."

Author's Note #2: For the purposes of this fic-series, the boys graduated from high school in 2007. All involved were 18 on-or-before the night of the senior play, albeit not necessarily in their right minds. If you'd like to see a trailer of the film, you can find it at the official website ().

* * *

The first thing to understand about Cole Bochner and Cooper Stevens is that they were not, are not, and never will be boyfriends. If asked, they'll cheerfully admit that they've slept together (or, at least, Cooper will. Cole spent too long trying not to think about the implications that went with that revelation to be able to joke about it comfortably). But, as any college student can tell you, sex does not mean "relationship," and Cole and Cooper have never had that kind of relationship. They're best friends, and occasionally they drink too much and wake up naked in Cooper's dorm room, and that's more than enough for them. They don't need the drama, and more importantly, they're _not_ Timothy and Jonathon.

Timothy and Jonathon _were_ boyfriends, in the traditional romantic sense of the word. High school sweethearts, they'd fallen in love while working on the senior production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ and never looked back. Cole and Cooper had also logged a monumental first the weekend of the production, if one cared about those sorts of things (which they didn't). While a large portion of the weekend surrounding the senior play was a blur, the after-party was a blur of a different sort - the kind involving moderate-to-large quantities of Gray Goose and Captain Morgan. The advantage of having parents who were gone most weekends was that Cooper had the opportunity to host the best parties in town. They'd woken up the next morning naked, with hangovers bad enough that whatever awkwardness there might have been was lost in the dash for the bathroom.

That had been a few weeks before the end of the school year - the end of high school. They'd written it off as "one of those things" and gone back to hanging around like they always had, a tradition dating back to Cooper's sixth birthday. If things occasionally happened, like late nights lubricated with beer and the odd margarita (and always at Cooper's house, because Cole's mother insisted that they sleep with the door open like they were five), it was just two friends having a good time. They dated now and then, but never seriously, because that was more effort than it could possibly be worth (once, Cole had even drummed up the courage to ask Becky out. Cooper had known it would end bloody, what with Jonathon leaving her for Timothy and all, but he'd done his duty and encouraged his best friend. He'd been proven right after two dates and an hour trying to get something pink and sticky out of a silk tie. _That_ had been an interesting night, and an even more interesting morning. He'd learned a lot, and really, who said "no" to a blow job, right?). In general, though, that summer was filled with mind-numbing jobs, the summer soccer league, and the biweekly parties that Cooper hosted when his parents were both out of town (and the occasional night of really bad movies washed down with a few bottles of beer - Cooper's parents were cool like that, and let him and his friends drink in the house so long as there was a 2 beer/2 shot max for the night).

It being the internet age, when they all went their separate ways for college nothing changed. The rugby team had a Facebook page, and everyone had G!Talk anyway, so 1,000 miles barely made a dent in things. While Jon migrated to the East Coast to slog his way through Boston College, with Timothy unsurprisingly nearby in Amherst, both Cole and Cooper stuck closer to home. For Cooper, Northwestern had everything he wanted and the best scholarship package; for Cole, his mother had made it clear that he wasn't going more than 200 miles, so he'd ended up at Notre Dame because it gave him the most breathing space.

With a mother like Cole's, you ended up going one of two ways - you were a Mama's Boy, or you chafed quietly and got out the moment you could hit the pavement. Cole fell under the latter description, or at least he wanted to. However, "hitting the pavement" was a relative term, and his father was useless at best when it came to pushing back against his mother's "family declarations," so it was a gradual process. Notre Dame had been the first step, but it was a limiting factor as well - even with the scholarships he'd qualified for, it was still upwards of $30,000 a year, which meant being the good son for four years until he'd earned his degree. He could do that. Head down, grades good, and date just enough to let his parents know they'd get grandchildren eventually. Piece of cake.

Shockingly, it actually _did_ work like that. He landed in Dillon Hall, did his part in Rivalry Week that fall(and got a sprained ankle for his troubles), joined the Jewish Club(he considered it a valid self-defense against his mother's inevitable questions about his social life), and spent the rest of his life bouncing between the various libraries on campus. His parents had let him take the Outback with him, which was awesome, but it being South Bend, there really wasn't all that much to do even off-campus, whether or not he had the time to spare (which he didn't). He and Cooper bitched and moaned at each other about their respective courseloads, teased Jon mercilessly about being a lovesick fool, and somehow muddled through their respective first semesters. When Thanksgiving break came around, Cole was only too happy to hit the road for home. Having some sense of self-preservation, and a vague notion of Cooper's (lack of) ability to be packed and ready to go on anything resembling a schedule, Cole didn't even bother to grumble about having to spend Tuesday night in Cooper's dorm room because Cooper had to turn in a paper Wednesday morning. The fact that there'd been far more groping and far less writing that occurred that night was a minor detail at best, and one which could easily be ignored. After all, Cole was sure that there'd been an open beer can _somewhere_ on that floor of the dorm.

It was the next morning before it occurred to Cole to ask where Cooper's roommate was, eying the neatly made bed on the far side of the room with no small amount of trepidation. Cooper just shrugged, stretching his arms over his head before settling back down onto his side of the too-small mattress. "Beats me. I think he left last Friday, but we don't really talk much."

It was on the way to the bathroom, when Cole's brain was finally capable of processing more than "I turned in that paper, what if it wasn't good enough?" and "How long has it been since I slept?" and "Wow, shouldn't have had that coffee" and "Cooper's arms got bigger, that's kind of hot" and "I need to get laid more often" that he noticed the stickers on the door. "Hey, Coop? There something you want to tell me?"

Cooper, who was still lying in bed and showing no signs of moving anytime soon (despite the fact that they were supposed to be on the road in under an hour), didn't even bother to open his eyes. "Don't think so."

Cole eyed the stickers again, the Gay and Lesbian University Union one in particular, before stepping back into the room and closing the door behind him. "You sure about that?"

Cooper did open his eyes at that, squinting in the sunlight. "Um, yeah? Why, you find a bong or something? Because I told Jimmy to quit leaving that shit around in here."

Cole resisted the urge to ask what else Jimmy had been leaving around that Cooper hadn't thought to mention, because that wasn't what he was getting at. "Since when are you gay?"

Cooper propped himself up on his elbows, a confused look on his face. "Um, I'm not? This" he gestured between the two of them, "aside, I kind of tend to stick with the ladies. Less fuss, and less risk of someone breaking my nose again."

Cole blinked, because sure, Cooper was cool with Jon and Timothy, but they'd been friends with Jonathon somewhere around forever. Being cool with a gay friend was one thing, being this chill about how 'I sleep with girls, mostly, but not always' was something quite a bit different, and certainly not how Cooper had put things when Cole had dropped him off in Evanston in August. "So what's with the club sign on your door?"

"Oh, that. It's mostly just a social group, trips down to Chicago, that kind of thing. Being closer to the city means access to all kinds of awesome things. Next spring, I am totally dragging your ass to some of the fetish festivals. Because _I_ want to go, and there's no way I'm going alone." Cole opened his mouth to argue, because really, all he needed was for his mom to learn that he'd been to a _fetish festival_ and he'd be back at U of I, Kingston Campus faster than he could say auto-erotic asphyxiation. Cooper didn't give him the chance. "Don't worry, we'll hit a museum or something, too. Trust me, you'll like it."

And that was how Cole found himself at the International Mr. Leather show the following May. And marching with the Pride Parade the following summer (because somehow, Cooper had _accidentally_ signed him up as a volunteer after insisting that Cole get the weekend off of work). After that, Cole gave up the fight and just cleared his schedule when Cooper called and said he'd found "something you'll love. Trust me." Because the thing was, Cole _did_ trust Cooper. Sure, they screwed around with each other (literally and figuratively), but they also had an understanding that went back to the fifth grade - when one of them said stop, they stopped. Whether it was teasing about how Cole's Dad had moved to the city and was never coming back (Cooper learned later, through a round of tears which both of them would fiercely deny had ever occurred, that the term divorce had been thrown around the Bochner living room more than once after Cole was supposed to have been in bed. Cole's parents had worked things out, but Cooper never joked about the subject again), or the first time Cooper had tried giving Cole a blow job and nearly choked himself before admitting that it wasn't as easy as it looked. They were _friends_.

While he always had a good time, Cole was also always vaguely on-edge at the events Cooper dragged him to. It was easy for Cooper, because he had a not-quite-rotating-door of girlfriends to casually drop into conversation if certain assumptions were made. Despite his best efforts, Cole didn't have that. Sure, he dated a little, but it never really seemed to go anywhere. After three years of ending up "better off friends," he just wrote the dating scene at Notre Dame off as a no-win situation and dug even deeper into his studies. It wasn't that he found the assumption that he was gay offensive - Jonathon was gay, and he was the most manly guy that Cole knew. But Cole didn't think that he _was_ gay, and if his mom ever got the idea he might be, well, there was a strong possibility that he'd be scrambling to come up with upwards of $30,000/year all by his lonesome in a hurry. His education was too important to screw around with on the off-chance that his preferences ran to more than just the occasional accidental night fucking around with Cooper. He didn't push the issue with girls because he was worried about what he might learn, and even though (as Cooper liked to put it) "a blow job was a blow job, why be picky?" it was just as easy to "accidentally" date only girls who were interested in waiting until marriage.

Cooper never teased Cole about his concerns, and he always steered clear of Cole's love life when they chatted - either online or in person - which Cole appreciated immensely. There were some things that just weren't worth dealing with while one was balancing a completely-and-utterly-insane load of chemical engineering courses. He could have opted for an extra term or two; while tuition was expensive, his parents would have understood the fact that some courses were only offered in one or two section chunks and freshmen just didn't get into certain classes the first time around. But they'd put down more than enough money on his education as it was, and the minor suspicion that he might not like girls as much as he thought he did was getting more and more persistent the closer he got to being financially independent. He was going home less, spending his breaks in Evanston with Cooper or driving to various grad schools to talk to their admissions people about funding options. Apparently, an unweighted 3.75 GPA and some volunteering experience in minority-focused fields, along with the internship he'd landed in Chicago the summer before his senior year, led to some sweet grant offers. The "unlimited minutes" package for his cell phone was worth every penny that spring, between the calls to Cooper and Jon and his parents. Some things were just easier to discuss on the phone.

Cole never got the chance to ease his parents into the (apparent) change in his romantic preferences, or even to sound them out on the topic. While he knew where his mother stood, being just this side of the line between Reform and Orthodox and carrying plenty of old-school baggage with her just for the hell of it, his father's position was a bit murkier. David Bochner had been effectively out of the house since Cole was twelve, working in Chicago and only coming home on the weekends. Cole hadn't realized what was going on when the first affair occurred, but he was old enough to recognize the signs by the second and third times. His parents would fight, and his Dad would go all quiet, and then he'd stop coming home for a few weeks. Then, one night, he'd just be back as if nothing had happened, and Cole was too grateful to have him back to ask. Cole's mother never said anything about why her husband was gone for a month at a time, made no attempt to explain. The one time Cole made the mistake of asking, he'd ended up spending a month with his Aunt Rachel, who'd married a Rabbi and believed that children should be seen and not heard. Even if you were 14 and had already had your Bar Mitzvah, you were still a child in her house and should close your mouth and roll up your sleeves. He'd never brought up the subject again.

So, it was possible that Cole's father might have taken the news that his son would not be taking a bride in the near future with a grain of salt and a strong dose of patience. At least, he might have if Cole had been given the chance to explain things to him. Instead, his parents got their dates mixed up and drove down for commencement a day earlier than he was expecting them. "Cole, are you up, dear? I- Cooper?"

It was an awkward situation all around, made worse by the fact that neither Cole nor Cooper could effectively duck out of the immediate line of fire due to the lack of certain essential articles of clothing. They were saved from having to even attempt an explanation (and Cole knew that particular responsibility lay solely with him) when Cole's mother (predictably) took the vocal offensive, turning her back on the bed with her son and his best friend and instead lighting into her husband. "David! Do you see this? Do you? This is what happens when you send a boy to a Catholic university. I _told_ you he shouldn't have been so far from home. But did you listen to me? No." She raised her right hand, poking David hard in the chest. "This is your fault. You're his father. You need to fix this! I will not have my son thrown out of Temple because he didn't have a strong enough male influence. Do you hear me?"

Cole took advantage of his mother's distraction to pull on a pair of boxers and stand. It took him two tries to cut into her tirade. "Mom. Mom! First, you need to step into the room and close that door. I refuse to have this discussion in front of the rest of the dorm." He crossed his arms and stared at her until she did so. "Second, this is not Dad's fault. It's not your 'fault'." She opened her mouth again, and he held up a hand to cut her off. "And it most definitely is not Cooper's fault. This is the twenty-first century, Mom. Yes, I've had sex with Cooper. Yes, I liked it. No, we're not getting married. No, he's not a girl. And yes, that means I'm probably gay. Now, I was up for a large portion of the night doing things I'm sure you don't want to hear about, and I need at least two cups of coffee and a shower before I'm having anymore of this discussion. I'll meet you downstairs by the main doors in half an hour. If you're not there, I'll understand."

Cole's mother blinked dumbly at him for a minute before pulling herself together. "Now, wait just a minute, here. I'm-"

"Leaving." David cut in, startling both Cole and his mother. "Because I need something a lot stiffer than coffee before I'm going to have this conversation, any of it. And because while I might not understand everything that's going on here, I do know that Cole is an adult capable of making his own decisions." He took his wife's arm and pulled her toward the door. "Even the bad ones." David turned, shooting Cooper an indecipherable look before nodding once in Cole's direction. "We'll be at the hotel tonight, and we'll be at commencement tomorrow. And then we'll talk when you get home."

Cole swallowed hard and nodded. "Later, Dad." He waited until the door closed before unclenching his fists, wincing as he realized that he'd left deep half-circle marks in his palm. He took a shaky breath, carefully easing himself back down onto the bed where Cooper still sat, sheet bunched around his waist and back braced against the cinderblock wall that seemed to be an inescapable feature of dorm rooms everywhere. Cole took a second breath, easier than the first as Cooper's hand settled gently onto his back and began to move in circular motions.

"You okay?"

Cole choked on a laugh, recognizing the hysteria for what it was and unsure if he should let it out to play or bury it somewhere in the darkest corners of his mind. Spared a moment to wonder if that would even work. "I'll live, I think." He shivered once, the movement claiming his whole body before it subsided. "Sorry you had to see that. This wasn't how I wanted them to find out." He leaned back into Cooper's hand, allowing his eyes to slip closed for a minute before they snapped open as another concern emerged. "Wait, what about you? I mean, you date girls. You _like_ girls. Mom's probably going to call your mom and tell her that you're some kind of a pervert or I've corrupted you or something."

Cole was surprised to see Cooper shrug, obviously unconcerned. "My parents know I'm not quite arrow-straight. They seem to be okay with it, you know? I mean, if I told them we were getting married it might be different, but we're not exactly Jon and Timothy, you know?" Cooper shook his head, his expression shifting to one of disbelief and fond amusement. "Still can't believe Jon's actually planning to ask him. I mean, I get it and all - they're moving for _his_ law school program, and he wants to give Timothy concrete proof that he understands the commitment being made, but still."

Cole nodded, relieved, and allowed himself to lean into Cooper's touch just a bit more. "I don't want that."

"Hm?"

"Just so you know, I mean. I'm not your boyfriend, I don't expect anything like that. All the same, I'm glad you're here." Cole shifted around, scooting until he was lying down with his head resting on Cooper's thighs.

"You're my best friend, man. Nowhere else I'd rather be." Cooper lightly slapped Cole's shoulder. "And besides, you still give the best head I've ever had. I'd be a fool to turn down an offer like that."

Cole gave a breathy chuckle, rolling over so that he could get a glimpse of Cooper's face. "Is that a request?"

Cooper squirmed, slouching further down against the wall. "Well, if you're offering..."

Cole ran his hand up the length of Cooper's leg before gently grasping the sheet and pulling it down. "Now, how could I turn down such a heartfelt and poetic request like that?" He shifted again, sitting up to get into a more comfortable position. "Why, I might think you had designs on my virtue, using fancy words like that."

Cooper rolled his eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake, just get on with it."

Cole grinned, but his response was cut off by the ringing of a cell phone, the musical sequence specific to just one of his friends. If it had been anyone else, he'd have left it to voicemail. But this was Jon, who'd spent far more time on the phone with him than was healthy helping him to sort out his grad school options and sexual orientation (and there was a term he most definitely was not comfortable using yet, wasn't sure he ever would be). With a groan of frustration that was emphatically echoed by Cooper, Cole leaned over the side of the bed to find the source of the noise. Once it was located, he tapped the answer key and put it to his ear. "This had better be good."

"He said yes!!"

Cole blinked, looking over at Cooper for a hint as to what Jon was talking about before it dawned on him. "Wait, that was this weekend? What happened to waiting until summer?" It was May. May definitely did not count as summer in Cole's book.

"I was going to, but then I accidentally left the ring over at his place and it was this whole big mess because he still thinks I see him as being a girl or something, even though he knows that's not true, and I know, sometimes I really suck at being romantic, but it just sort of slipped out and, um, he said yes!" Jonathon was going a mile a minute, which was unusual for him. But then, Cole supposed it wasn't every day that you successfully proposed marriage, so he could cut the man some slack.

"That's awesome, Jon. Congratulations. Hey, Cooper's in town for grad, why don't you tell him your big news?" Cole shoved the phone into Cooper's hand, ignoring the sour expression he got in response.

"Jon? Hey, what's up? Really. That's great. Look, I've got to run. Cole will call you back later, okay?" Cooper snapped the phone shut, turning his attention back to Cole as he resettled on the bed. "Now, where were we?"

Cole pretended to think it over. "Hm. Let me see..."

Several hours later, sated and drowsing in the late-morning sun, Cooper felt the need to break the contented silence. "So, I've been thinking."

Cole snorted, rolling over onto his side to fully express his skepticism. "I thought I smelled something burning."

"I'm serious." Cooper punched him in the shoulder, just hard enough to make Cole lie back down, grumbling under his breath. "So, you're going to U of M Twin Cities in fall, right?"

"Yeah..."

Cooper tucked his hands behind his head, then decided he didn't want them there afterwards and crossed them over his chest before finally settling on tucking just his right hand behind his head. "Well, you see, I got this job offer from a lobbying group in Saint Paul. And I'm thinking of taking it."

Cole blinked, because of all the places Cooper could have been going, this had not even been in the top ten. "What happened to starting your masters at Ohio State?"

Cooper shrugged, carefully studying the ceiling. "It's a really good job offer, and it looks a hell of a lot more interesting than an MA program in political science. Cheaper, too."

Cole propped himself up on one elbow, studying his not-lover for clues as to why the fuck he was doing this, bringing it up now of all times. "Really."

"So, I was thinking, I mean if you'd be interested, that maybe we might want to get an apartment together. Save money, roommate you already know, that kind of thing."

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"What? No. Of course not. I'm just suggesting a mutually beneficial arrangement. You know, good for both of us. I mean, moving to a new city is always easier if you know someone there, right?"

"I _do_ know someone there, remember? Nate transferred to the U of M two years ago, and he's taking an extra year on his BS."

The change in Cooper's expression was subtle, but then Cole had known him a long time. "Right, I'd forgotten about that. Well, good. That's good, I-"

Cole placed gentle fingers over Cooper's mouth to silence him. "I didn't say no."

Cooper reached of and grasped Cole's hand, pulling it away. "You didn't say yes, either."

"I don't want you doing this for me, Cooper. If you make this choice, it needs to be for you. You're my best friend, and I can't risk losing that. I won't. So if you can tell me, honestly, that this is for you, I'll say yes."

Cooper released Cole's fingers, and gently cradled his friend's face with both hands. "I'm not doing this just for you." He pulled Cole down, taking a moment to savor a kiss. "And I won't lie and say I'm doing it just for me, either." He shifted, urging Cole to rest more fully atop him. "I'm doing this for both of us, because I'm sick and tired of only sleeping with you when one of us has vacation."

Cole's eyes widened, surprise and cautious optimism apparent in everything from the line of his jaw to the light creases in his brow. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Is that enough for you, or do we have to attempt to discuss our feelings?"

Cole shook his head in reflex, leaning down to halt the flow of words with a kiss. "It's more than enough, and you damn well know it."

~ Finis ~


	2. What's in a Name? CC Focus

Author's Note: Written as a sequel to "Not Boyfriends," and is set within the same universe. Thanks again to my cheerleaders, plot-bouncers, and beta-types.

* * *

_Spring, 2009_

"Get up."

"What? It's barely even light out, leave me alone."

"It's after nine, and I'm the one who's got the keys for the Saturday morning practice."

"Good for you. I'll meet you for lunch."

There was a moment of silence, and for a brief, flickering instant, Cole thought he'd actually won the argument. Then the blanket vanished and was replaced by something cold and hard, and Cole was sitting up before he realized that it was just a can of pop from the fridge by the door. Cole grabbed the first thing he could find - a flashlight - and chucked it at his smirking friend. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

Cooper raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, good humor quickly replaced by concern. "Whoa, whoa. I'm sorry, man. You okay?"

Cole dropped down onto his back, reaching up to run a hand over his face as he tried to pull the world into coherent focus. "Yeah, fine." He yawned, rolling onto his side. "Awesome, even."

Cooper frowned, turning away to rifle through the pile of clean laundry in the corner of his room as they talked. "Obviously. So, how long has it been since you've slept more than three hours at a time?"

"Last night?" Cole shrugged one shoulder in response to the exasperated glance Cooper shot his way. "Fine, so it's been a few weeks. I don't see _you_ taking advanced mathematics classes."

"Fair enough." Whatever else Cooper said was lost as he pulled his rugby jersey over his head. "Just wanted you to meet some of the guys, maybe practice with us a few times since you got screwed out of tryouts by that sprain."

Cole winced, burying his head further into the pillow. Right, the sprain. It had happened three weeks _after_ rugby practices had started, but he'd never bothered to come clean with Cooper that he'd just opted not to join the team because he was sick of hurting _all the fucking time_. After taking a deep breath, Cole looked up to find Cooper standing over him, expression thoughtful. "You never tried out this year, either, did you? Why the hell didn't you just say something?"

Cole swallowed hard. "I wanted to, but I just _couldn't_ - not with three lab classes. I didn't have the time. And I didn't think you'd understand."

"Okay."

"So, you're not pissed?"

"Give me a few days." Any response Cole might have made was cut off by the beeping of Cooper's iPhone. "Right. Well, we've got a bye this week, so that means practice whether I want it or not. We run until 1. You feel up to it, walk on down and meet me by the field when we wrap up. You start hacking your lungs up due to stress, you know where the campus clinic is. Otherwise, I'll wake you up when I get back and we can go scavenging at the cafeteria. That suit your tastes, princess?"

Cole nodded, whatever response he had planned to make lost as he yawned again. He didn't even bother to take offense at Cooper's laughter as he disappeared out the door, just rolled over and dropped off within seconds.

^_^_^

Despite the complete legitimacy of his refusal to get out of bed at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning, aided by the fact that Cooper knew and didn't care that Cole had opted out of college athletics, Cole's reprieve was short-lived. Less than an hour after Cooper had vanished for rugby practice - something that Cole didn't miss, despite the fact that everyone else from the Morgan Hill team was still playing and apparently loving it, a fact which had prompted the decision not to mention his own divergent actions - the kid next door decided that it was an essential human right to blast music loud enough to vibrate concrete.

Cole spent forty-five minutes tossing and turning, attempting to return to that lovely realm just past drowsy where one didn't dream so much as float, before giving up and crawling out of bed. It was clear that the universe was giving him a sign, much as he might want to ignore it. The only good thing was that at 11:15 on a Saturday morning, the showers in Cooper's dorm were reasonably empty. Nobody cared if he spent half an hour under the blissfully hot water "taking up space". He'd gotten into Evanston late, the night before, and Cooper had been hip-deep in a paper on Catherine the Great, so Cole had just stripped down to his boxers and crawled into Cooper's empty bed. He didn't even remember falling asleep, although he'd woken at some point in the night to find that Cooper had joined him (putting out a vaguely alarming number of BTUs, Cole noted absently). Cooper had a tendency to do that, seeking out touch for no other reason than just because someone else was _there_. Cole couldn't quite understand the behavior, but he didn't object to it, either. It was probably one of the reasons why, even two years after that first drunken encounter, the two of them still fell into bed with each other without the awkwardness that had come from Cole's other attempted couplings.

A glance at his watch reminded him that time was passing, and as good as the hot water felt, he couldn't stay there forever. He was awake, and (mostly) functional, so he might as well track down Cooper when his practice ended and insist that they go somewhere that had better options than stale salad and a row of not-quite-expired cereals. Nothing against the cafeterias at Northwestern, but end-of-term meant shoddy offerings no matter where you were, and he _wasn't_ still burning off cash on a meal plan. He took his time dressing, making sure to steal a can of pop while he tried to remember where he'd left his keys. After double-checking the location of the practice fields (and finding them exactly where Cooper had said they were the last time he'd invited Cole to stop in at practice and toss a ball around for old time's sake), he shoved his backpack into the corner next to Cooper's bed and headed out.

^_^_^

After two wrong turns (Cole wasn't bad with directions, he really wasn't. But somehow he ended up on the wrong side of Sheridan, which he didn't realize until he passed the chapel, so it took twice as long to get to the recreation field as it should have), he finally found the practice grounds. As he'd suspected, rugby practice did not appear to have changed much since he'd left the sport. Settling in to wait out the last thirty minutes of practice, Cole couldn't resist the urge to wolf-whistle when Cooper pulled off his shirt a few moments later (something which Cole could attest had nothing to do with his role as a spectator and everything to do with Cooper's tendency to overheat after more than forty-five minutes of physical activity when it was more than fifty degrees out). Cooper raised a hand to shade his eyes, looking around before settling his attention on Cole and waving cheerfully. Cole waved back, and was surprised when Cooper came jogging across the field to greet him.

"Hey."

"Hey." Cole shifted, suddenly feeling awkward as he noticed the rest of the team looking on in interest. Cooper seemed completely immune to their collective stares, a skill Cole had always envied.

"Feeling better?"

Cole nodded, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans just to have something to do with them. "Yeah, thanks." He glanced over Cooper's shoulder, or rather around it, to get a better look at the rest of the players. "You should get back. I didn't want to interrupt, just let you know I was here."

Cooper shrugged, turning to check the state of his teammates. "You know how it is, by the end of practice nobody minds a break. Greg is perfectly capable of getting them back to work; that's what captains are _for_. Anyway, he said I should bring you around the next time you were in town."

"Yeah, well, still." Cole waved one of his hands vaguely. "I'm just going to sit down over here and play dead for a while."

"Cooper!"

"And that would be my cue." Cooper tossed his sweaty jersey at Cole, then turned and ran before Cole could retaliate. "Later!"

Cole couldn't hear what was said when Cooper rejoined the group, but he could guess. Whatever Cooper's explanation, it earned him a round of laughter and a slap on the back before they settled down to work again. Cole would admit that he missed the camaraderie of the game, but it wasn't enough to outweigh the physical toll it exacted - especially with the college team playing matches over both the fall and spring terms. Luckily, grad schools didn't care about athletics, or so he'd been told. That in mind, he settled on the grass with nothing more taxing in mind than finding shapes in the puffy white clouds overhead.

^_^_^

"Cole?"

Cole woke with a start, not having intended to actually fall asleep as he waited for practice to end. He sat up, blinking in the sunlight. "Mm-hmm?"

"You still up for lunch?" Cooper was standing over him, wearing jeans and a T-Shirt and obviously freshly showered.

Cole pulled himself to his feet using the hand Cooper offered. "Have you ever known me to turn down food?"

Cooper grinned. "Always a first time, I guess. Come on, a bunch of the guys are going out to the Chinese buffet. I'm buying."

"Now _that's_ an offer I can't refuse." He paused, squinting at his taller companion. Cooper did 'freakishly innocent' really well, something about how big his eyes got when he batted his lashes. "Wait, what exactly _did_ you tell them about me?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Friend from high school, on the rugby team, boyfriend."

Cole froze, expression bordering between disbelief and outright terror. "You _what_??"

Cooper burst into laughter. "Your face. Oh, God, Cole your _face_!"

Cole crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "Not. Fucking. Funny."

"Oh, come _on_, dude. It was fucking hilarious. It's not like they know your mom or anything. And the guys are pretty cool about that kind of thing, anyway." Cooper reached out and ruffled Cole's hair. "Or, wait, is this your legendary fear of commitment shining through? That's it, isn't it? You're just scared this means you have to actually put out."

"You want scared? I'll show you scared." Cole made a grab for Cooper's gym bag, just missing as the taller boy stepped out of reach. Before he could make another grab, Cooper was on the run, taking advantage of his too-long legs as he left Cole in the dust. As he chased after, Cole had to admit that there were worse things than having a friend who knew you too well. And, after all, he could always withhold sex. For whatever reason, Cooper never seemed to be dating anyone when Cole came through town, which meant that the threat held a lot more weight than it might otherwise.

^_^_^

Two years later, Cole again found himself camping out on the sidelines of a Northwestern rugby match, albeit this time it was not an in-house scrimmage, and he was far from the only spectator who had shown up. He cheered and booed with the rest of the crowd, and again took the opportunity to simply relax into the moment. As much of his life as he _could_ control at the moment was under control. He was officially done with Notre Dame, which meant no more outrageous tuition that his parents were helping to pay. He'd come out of the closet to his parents, even though he wasn't _completely_ sure he'd been all the way in one to begin with (there was always the possibility that Cooper was the aberration and not the norm, after all. It wasn't like he'd really had a chance to test the theory, because every time he happened to be in a potential dating scene he was with Cooper, and other guys always assumed they were a couple. He'd never managed to figure out why, but it made even attempting to date someone not-Cooper and not-female a pain in the ass).

Parents aside, when his sister had called him to wish him a Happy Birthday – something that happened rarely, if ever – he'd taken a deep breath and told her he might not be all that interested in girls. Given that she talked to their parents less than he did, a fact which had played greatly into his mother's 200 miles or else college restriction after Beth had run away to Mount Holyoke and never come home, it had seemed like a low-risk gamble. She'd gone silent for a long moment, and then asked why the fuck she should care what he did in bed. Beth might have ditched him when he was 12, but at least she could be counted on to understand what mattered and what didn't.

Now, Cole found himself killing time, sticking around Evanston until Cooper's graduation to avoid the coming confrontation with his parents. Good intentions or not, his mother was not the most accepting individual, and he was worried that things might be said which could not later be unsaid. He was leaving home, and to a degree leaving behind his family, but that didn't mean he wanted the parting to be on bad terms. Beth had done that, making his own life Hell in the process, though she couldn't have realized it at the time, and he could admit that while it was tempting, he wasn't ready to give up his family, either. It was one of the things that had made the decision whether or not to voice his emerging preferences all the more difficult. Once, back in high school in a fit of teenaged _something_, he'd informed his parents that he was in love with Cooper. To this day, he can't remember what he could have been thinking, but he remembered his mother's reaction with utmost clarity – she'd yelled and screamed, tears dripping down her face after she had realized that it wasn't a joke (and lectured him appropriately on poor taste). His father had been silent, expression distant as it often was at the rare family meals he made it home for.

A sharp whistle blast pulled him out of his thoughts, probably for the best, and when the applause and screaming started he realized that the match was over. It took a few moments, but Cole finally managed to find Cooper in the fray.

"Congratulations. Last match of the year, and you kicked the crap out of them."

Despite the forty pounds of muscle Cooper had packed on over the course of college, Cole couldn't help flashing back to the gangly eighteen year old he'd played with on the Morgan Hill team, especially when Cooper pulled out that little-boy grin. "We did, didn't we?"

Cole didn't bother shrugging off the arm that Cooper draped across his shoulders, even though it was far heavier than it really needed to be and Cooper was in desperate need of a shower. There was enough of a difference in their heights that it wasn't an awkward position, and Cole had spent four years living in a boys dorm – he'd smelled worse things than sweat and grass. Unlike previous games Cole had attended, however, this time when they reached the gym Cooper didn't release him and break off for the locker rooms. Instead, they walked right past the entrance, turning the corner to the wall that ran between the gym and a row of dorms. Cole opened his mouth, intending to ask if there'd been a change in plans, but never got the chance. The moment they passed into one of the more secluded alcoves, Cooper had him pressed up against the wall and was kissing him breathless.

After a moment's hesitation, Cole gave into the kiss, sliding his arms around Cooper's waist as he tried to pull him closer. This was the one thing that they hadn't ever been able to put down to just-fucking-around, which was one of the reasons they didn't do it unless they were drunk. Sex was one thing, even "actual sex," which happened much less frequently (and hadn't _that_ been an experience, the weekend they'd decided to try that one out), but kissing was too close to romance for either of their tastes. Kissing was for girls, and possibly for boyfriends – they were neither. It was times like this, pressed up against the side of a building with less than two coherent thoughts to rub between them as they shared each other's breath and grasped blindly for each other's skin, that reminded Cole of just why that fact was such a shame.

Cole could feel Cooper hard against his hip, but that didn't prepare him for the feel of Cooper's spandex-covered thigh as it pressed against his own erection. Cole broke the kiss, panting as his head fell back against the wall. This was a bad idea, for so many reasons, but he was having a hard time remembering what they were. After all, he was done with school. Nobody, or next to nobody, in Evanston knew who he was. Cooper had just played his final match on th rugby team. Cole knew there were reasons this was bad, but every time he tried to think of them Cooper would shift his weight and Cole's brain fled south at an alarming speed.

"Cooper? I need the keys for-" The brief interlude from reality ended fast enough to give Cole whiplash, with the appearance of one of the rugby players that Cole could (probably) recognize on a good day. "Oh. Um, I can come back."

"No, no." Cooper pushed away with a groan, muttering something under his breath that even Cole couldn't catch as he bent over and rummaged in his duffel bag until he found a set of keys. Standing, he tossed them at his teammate. "Here."

The player mumbled something that could possibly have been "thanks", but was gone before Cole could be sure. Cooper sighed, and leaned against the wall next to Cole.

"We definitely do _not_ need to talk about this."

Cole shook his head emphatically. "Nope, not at all."

"When we move up to Minnesota, we're not going to do this, right? You're going to date, I'm going to date, and we just won't bring people home. That sound okay with you?"

Cole swallowed hard, thinking it through. It certainly was one way to deal with the situation, and it would avoid the risk that they'd push a little too far one day and end up lovers. "Awesome. But, if we're not dating, do you mind if we still..."

"God, I hope so."

"Okay. Right, that's good." Cole glanced around, glad to see that no one else had come wandering by since the unfortunate rugby player. "Is there anywhere you need to be?"

Cooper shook his head. "Will's having a party tonight, end of season thing, but it's not starting up for a few hours. You want to walk back to my place so I can grab a shower, then we can decide when we want to move once my classes finish?"

Cole nodded, and reluctantly pushed himself away from the wall (and Cooper's body heat – it was surprisingly chilly in the shade, even in late May). "Shower, food, real life, then party. All that's missing is sex, and you'd have all the good things in life."

Cooper draped his arm across Cole's shoulders in the now-familiar motion. "Somehow, I think we can manage to fit that one in, too."

~ Finis ~


	3. Terms of Endearment 1 TJ Focus

******Author's Note:**

Third in the fic series that emerged after I spent way too long driving around the Midwest after watching the film "Were the World Mine". This installment is roughly 9,000 words long, and many apologies for taking so long. I promised hllangel that I'd have something up before she starts classes on Monday, so here it is. This functions as something akin to a counterpoint to "What's in a Name?"

**  
****Author's Note (II):**

****Unlike Northwestern, Boston College's Rugby website _sucks_ at providing useful information - we're talking levels approaching dead rat through a straw. As a result, I took some liberties. If you attend/attended BC and I've mucked things up when it comes to your ruggers, I do apologize. Also, I have it on good authority that the phrase "Our drinking team has a rugby problem" is one that is bandied about in the real world, and not just a bad joke.

* * *

It wasn't the end of the world when Jonathon didn't make the starting line-up on the Eagles. He'd expected it, sort of. He was a freshman, and no matter how good he might be there was the whole paying-your-dues thing. He'd done that at Morgan Hill, he could do it again. Hard work, head down, all that jazz.

Getting placed on the "B" Team (not a B side, they had enough players to allow for a full second-tier team), though, that stung. When the team breakdowns were posted, the coach told them that he'd re-assess over the winter break, and not before. Jon could understand, to a degree - the team took all-comers, as long as you were willing to work hard, and if the rosters were right there had been over eighty players who'd signed on for the 07-08 season. A second team, competing against D2 schools made sense, he just hadn't expected to land on it. Even as a freshman at Morgan Hill he'd made Varsity.

When the team match schedules went up a few weeks later, he found he didn't mind being on the B team quite so much. While technically the A team represented the school, and was the only team representing the school on the rugby pitch, the coach set the B team up for scrimmages against regional D2 schools, more or less off the books. It was a win-win situation. The schedules went up while Jon was in the showers, which was an unexpected blessing because it meant that for once his towel didn't get soaked in the crossfire while fifty guys all tried to shower at once (it never worked, but that didn't keep them from trying). By the time he wandered out to get a look, all of the A team and half of the B team had cleared out of the central locker area, leaving a handful of his unfortunate compatriots getting dressed and talking quietly amongst themselves. He'd forgotten how much effort it took to make friends.

First was the A team schedule, no surprise there. Dartmouth, Harvard, Northeastern, UConn - big names, a few of which had been on his application list, a few of which had very politely asked him to wait a few weeks. The surprise came when he lifted the page and found UMass Amherst at the top of the B team list. He quickly scanned the page, trying to confirm whether it would be home or away, finally discovering the key at the bottom of the list. "Score!" Not bothering to read through the rest of the season, Jon crossed back to his locker and dug around until he found his cell phone. His call went straight to Timothy's voicemail, and he remembered that it was a Tuesday, which meant Timothy was still in Freshman Composition. He waited through the familiar message, drumming his fingers against the side of his locker as he waited for the beep.

"Hey, bright eyes. Got some good news. Season starts in a few weeks, and the first match is against UMass Amherst. Looks like I'll be getting out to visit sooner than we thought. Call me when you get out of class, we'll work it out. And just in case you've forgotten, I still love you." Ending the call, Jon checked his watch and confirmed that it would be at least another hour until Timothy got out of class, and that was assuming that he'd taken his cell phone with him, otherwise it might be closer to two hours. Just enough time to grab something to eat and head back to his room and get started on his reading for Western Civ. He packed as he mentally adjusted his schedule and tried to remember what exactly it was he was supposed to be reading for Western Civ this week, anyway.

His careful planning was interrupted by one of the guys who were hanging out at the far end of the row of lockers. "Hey, Cordon. No cell phones in the locker room, man."

Jon froze, because he'd completely forgotten, but they'd made sort of a big deal about it when he'd done orientation. "Fuck." He turned to look at the guy, definitely an upperclassman, wondering just exactly how much trouble he was in. "I am so sorry. I didn't-"

"No sweat, kid. Everyone forgets once in a while, just don't make a habit of it. Coach sees you, he'll have you doing sprints into next year, and that's just for the warm up."

Jon winced at that lovely image. "Right. Um, thanks for the heads up."

The upperclassman held out a hand. "I'm Karl, this is Pete and that's James. You're on B Team, which means you're one of mine. Bad for my reputation if you get busted over nothing. Gotta save it for the times when it's really worth it, you know what I'm saying?"

"I think I might have an idea." Jon shook his hand, and nodded to Pete and James who were leaning against the lockers and studying him thoughtfully.

Karl nodded, as if something had just been settled. "So, you've got a friend at UMass, I take it?"

Jon smiled, knew he probably looked like an idiot but couldn't really help it. Five months, and he still couldn't believe things had worked out the way they had. "You could say that."

"So it's not just a friend. Old lady, maybe? Got a little woman who's still hanging in there from high school?"

Jonathon laughed at that, unable to help himself, and just laughed harder when Pete reached over and smacked Karl hard enough to bruise. "Don't mind Karl, he likes to pretend he's all 'tough homeboy,' even though he's a legacy student. He's been out three years, and he's still rebelling against those nuns at Holy Cross. It was Jonathon, right?"

Jon nodded. "Jonathon Cordon."

"How long you been playing?" Pete crossed his arms across his chest, obviously taking over the conversation.

"Um, four years, give or take. I picked it up freshman year of high school."

"Let me guess, your team were division champs by the time you graduated? Or state champs, whatever it was for your school."

Jon blinked at the unexpected, if accurate, presumption. "Yeah, so?"

"I thought so. You play like you're used to winning. Hell, from what I've seen, you probably should have made the A team, but Coach is old-school like that. Don't take it personally."

"I didn't plan to." Jon shifted, wincing as a bruise on his back made contact with the edge of his locker. That was the downside of rugby, and it could be a doozy. "Look, guys, I appreciate the introductions. I'm sure you're all great guys, and I have every intention of wiping the floor with Umass and BU and whoever else was on that schedule. But right now, I've got a shitload of homework sitting in my dorm room that's not going to do itself, and a scholarship that requires me to actually do it. So, not to be rude, but is there a point to this?"

"Fair enough. Just checking out the new talent, that's all. Hang around long enough, it starts to come with the territory." Karl pushed himself to his feet, leaning over to grab his own duffel bag. "Can't fault a man for having his priorities in order. I'm going to go and hit the cafeteria while there's still something edible left. You have a good evening, Jonathon Cordon."

Karl headed for the door, the other two trailing behind him, and it only took a moment for Jonathon to regret the sharpness of his words. Gathering up his bag and jacket, he slammed his locker and jogged after them. "Hey, guys? Look, I didn't mean-"

James glanced back, expression amused. "Don't worry about it. Karl's a psych major, although I'm pretty sure he's got a minor in guilt trips. Come on, we've always got room for one more. We'll tell you about the real meaning of B team."

^__^__^

By the time Timothy called back, two hours later, Jon's B-Team "introduction" had migrated from the cafeteria to a bar called the Crow's Nest a few blocks from campus where a B-Team alumnus happened to work. When Jon saw the name on the caller ID, he excused himself from the table they'd managed to commandeer and stepped outside into the Indian Summer evening and its relative quiet.

"Hey there."

"Hey, yourself. I just got your message. How soon is soon?"

"How does two weeks sound?"

"Way, way too fucking long."

Jon chuckled, the sound rich and full. "Better than four, though. God, I miss you."

"I miss you, too. How was class?"

"Long, boring. Practice was just long and painful, so at least my life is symmetrical right now."

"You know, no one said you had to play rugby in college..."

"Oh, give me a break. You know you like watching me play just as much as I like playing."

As Jon expected, Timothy opted to change the subject rather than respond to the observation. "So, I heard that Frankie and Max broke up."

The door to the bar swung open, and Jon stepped out of the flow of human traffic. "That was fast. Didn't they just get back together a few weeks ago?"

"You know how those two are. Up and down, up and down. I give it a week."

Jonathon was prevented from responding by a hand on his shoulder, and turned to find James. "We wondered what had happened to you. Come back in, Karl just ordered a round of shots. And tell your girlfriend I said 'Hi'." James was gone before Jon could point out that no, he really didn't need a shot of anything that the unofficial team captain might have ordered for the table. On the other end of the line, Timothy had grown silent.

"Sorry about that, I-"

"Jon, where are you?"

Jon sighed, because this was not something he'd wanted to talk about tonight, if at all. "A place called the Crow's Nest, and yes, it's a bar."

"What the fuck, Jon? I thought you said you were cutting down on the drinking."

"Look, I meant what I said, I-"

"You what? If it's rugby-related it doesn't count? Sorry, Jon. That one didn't work the first time you tried it. I know you think you know what you're doing, but-"

"God, Timothy, could you give me two seconds to explain? Yes, I'm at a bar. Drinking a fucking Coke. A bunch of my teammates invited me out to explain some things. I'm not going to get myself arrested three weeks into school, so relax already."

There was a long pause, and Jon sighed. "Look, the drinking bothers you. I get it. That's why it's a coke and not something else."

"Fine. You say it's just a coke, it's just a coke. I'm just... I'm sorry. Look, it's been a long day. You go back into wherever, hang out with your friends. I'll see you online tonight, okay?"

"Anything I can do?"

"Not from a hundred miles away. Save it for the visit. I have a feeling we're both going to need it."

"Right." Jon swallowed hard, leaning back against the brick wall of the bar. "Look, I love you. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Love you, too, Jon. Don't stay out too late."

"Night, mom."

Jonathon ended the call, shifting his stance so that his shoulders settled more comfortably against the brick. He was still standing there twenty minutes later when James came out looking for him a second time.

^__^__^

"Hey, Cordon!"

Jonathon turned, shifting his bag out of the way as one of the other players pushed past him and out the door. "Yeah?"

"Heard you got yourself a honey."

Jon smiled, as much at the images the comment raised as at the comment itself. "Something like that. Why, did you need me to set you up?"

"I'm doing just fine on my own, rookie, don't you worry. I don't know if Karl told you, but on the B Team we have this tradition. First match of the season's always here, and then my parents host a BBQ afterward."

"Um, okay."

"It's a 'welcome to the team' kind of thing. Directions went out yesterday, but I never heard back so I thought I'd mention in."

Jon reached up and ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. He and Tim hadn't exactly had a lot of time for the practicalities over the last twenty-four hours. "Thanks, Eric. I appreciate-"

"Anyway, what I meant to say was that if you've got a girl up here, you might as well bring her along."

"Look, I appreciate the offer, but we kind of already had plans for the evening."

Eric wave off the protests. "So you leave early, big deal. Things kick off around six. The email's got the landline for the house, just call if you get lost." Eric didn't bother waiting for Jon to respond, turning back to his previous conversation with one of the other upperclassmen. Jon was left floundering, finally giving up and just leaving to break the bad news to Timothy. He'd deal with the whole 'girlfriend' misunderstanding later.

^__^__^

"I don't think this is such a good a idea."

Jon rolled his eyes, but waited to respond until he'd shifted into third. "You've said."

"Jonathon, I'm serious."

"I know. But this is important for me." Jon turned left onto a slightly-wider-than-two-lane road, and started watching for the numbers on the mailboxes. "Look for 2717."

"It'll be on the right. I'm not saying don't hang out with these guys, it's just..." Timothy sighed, looking out the window and watching the numbers slowly scroll up. "Look, they don't know that you're gay. Maybe you should wait a little while until you break the news."

Jon's grip on the gear shift tightened. "What makes you think they don't know?"

"Because when you called me from that bar, they called me your girlfriend."

"Maybe I didn't correct James then, that's true." He turned off the main road onto a driveway that was almost as wide, other cars visible closer to the house. "Maybe I did want to wait a little while, just like you said. But they invited me to this, they let me on their team, and I'm not going to hide the fact that I'm in love with you." He parked, turning the car off and leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Timothy's lips.

"Hm." Jon loved the way his lover's eyes always slipped closed when they kissed, like it was something to be savored. "Are you sure we can't just go back to the dorm? My roommate's gone until tomorrow night, and I'm sure it would be more interesting than a boring old rugby mixer."

Jon laughed, reaching up to trail his fingers along the edge of Timothy's jaw. "This won't last too long, don't worry. Nothing like one of Cooper's parties. We'll go in, we'll spend an hour being polite and score a free meal, and then we'll go back to your place and you can make good on that promise."

Timothy sighed, catching Jon's hand and folding his fingers around it. "Last chance. You really sure you want to out yourself this early in the season?"

Jon brushed a kiss against Timothy's knuckles. "They'll get over it."

Timothy's laugh was light on the humor, but he acceded the argument. "Your call, they're your friends."

Jon sighed, and released Timothy's hand in favor of unbuckling his seatbelt. "I'll make you a deal. Come on in, make an attempt to get along, and we'll leave when you say so. Okay?"

Timothy leaned over, guiding Jon back into another kiss. "Thank you." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Right. Shall we?"

"Definitely." Jon grinned, stepping out and stretching until his back cracked. Once Timothy had followed suit, albeit less enthusiastically, Jon placed a hand at his back and dragged him along to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Timothy reconsidering his decision to give in quite so easily. "Oh, for fuck's sake, his father teaches at Smith, okay? And I know full well that anyone who tries to beat you up is going to have a hell of a fight, so just relax already."

Timothy's response was cut off by the appearance of Eric as the front door swung open. "Cordon, man, you made it! Was beginning to think I was going to owe Karl that twenty bucks, after all."

Jon grinned, because even a month into life on the B Team, Eric's habit of betting on the small and inconsequential had proven itself something resembling legendary. "Your life is just one big tragedy in the making."

Eric's look of long-suffering tolerance was quickly replaced by curiosity. "My life is fucking awesome, thank you very much. I take it 'already have plans' blew you off?"

Jon swallowed hard, and glanced over at Timothy before responding. "Actually, this is my 'already had plans'." He replaced his hand at the base of Timothy's spine. "Eric, this is my boyfriend, Timothy. Timothy, Eric."

Eric blinked for a moment, then extended a hand in greeting. "Pleased to meet you. I have to admit, you're taller than I was expecting." Eric turned, leading the way back into the house. "Everyone's out back, more or less. My brother Brian's taken over the grill - it's his thing, don't ask - so there should be meat and meat-like products up soon. Coolers by the side door have drinks, all kinds, just leave your keys in the bowl if you're hitting the booze. Most of the team's already out there, which reminds me - there's Icy-Hot, Aspirin, and Ibuprofen in the bathroom at the end of the hall. Ice is in the freezer, along with gelpaks. Snag anything you need, and give me a yell when you leave just in case the house burns down later."

With that, Eric was gone, leaving a somewhat shell-shocked Timothy and Jonathon in his wake.

"Well, that was anticlimactic."

Timothy gave a shaky laugh, leaning further into Jon's touch. "Let's just say I've seen worse, but then, the night is hardly over."

Jon also learned the hard way that there was a distinct downside to cutting down on his average alcohol consumption. After six months of sticking to pop (more or less) at the parties, his tolerance was not what it had been. By the time he was on his second glass of whatever was in the sketchy punch bowl (lighter fluid, maybe?), his memories fizzled and died rather spectacularly. The only thing he could remember distinctly was that they'd made an unexpected stop by the side of the road so he could clear the excess alcohol out of his system the old fashioned way. Timothy was, to put it bluntly, not amused. Jon woke up the next morning on the floor next to Timothy's bed, aching from a combination of post-rugby syndrome, dehydration, and the fact that the floor was solid concrete under a quarter of an inch of industrial carpet.

The morning itself was awkward, in a way that things hadn't been between them before. There wasn't enough Advil in the world to make Jon's head stop hurting, never mind his bad shoulder. His physical condition, not quite but almost all his own fault, was exacerbated by Timothy's lack of willingness to just blow up and get the unpleasant shit over with. Instead, he was quiet, ready with a glass of water and a bottle of pills when Jon woke, but without his customary smile. Jon knew that Timothy was touchy when it came to drinking. It had become enough of an issue over the summer that Jon had asked once if his father had been an alcoholic. According to Timothy, he wasn't, but that was the one drawback to falling in love with someone before you really knew them - there was only so much that Jon knew about Timothy's past, and there were gaps large enough to lose a planet or three sprinkled throughout Jon's mental map of Timothy's life. Timothy's exact words on the topic had been:

"He drank, sure, but that wasn't what made him an asshole. He didn't get drunk and beat me, if that's what you're asking. You know that saying 'in vino veritas'? Sometimes, you don't want to know the truth." There was something nasty lurking underneath the calm words, dark and bitter enough that Jon never brought the issue up again. There were worse things than a few punches, and even though he loved Timothy, there were some things Jon just wasn't going to force him to explain. Timothy was right about that, at least - sometimes, you were better off not knowing the whole story.

^__^__^

It took a few weeks, but things settled back down and the issues surrounding the rugby BBQ were, if not forgotten, certainly laid to rest. Because Jon did understand where Timothy was coming from, and while the standing joke was that "The Drinking Team has a rugby problem", he didn't have either the time or the cash to join in with the regularly scheduled bar nights.

That being said, there are reasons that good intentions have notoriously bad results. The night after their first match at St John's, Jon was pulled out of bed (literally) by two members of the A Team, blindfolded, shoved into the backseat of someone's car with at least two other guys (which, in retrospect, he would admit was better than the trunk; the stories some of his friends in frats told were just ugly), and subjected to far more Nine Inch Nails than he ever really wanted to hear again before they reached wherever they were going.

The rest of the morning, and he knew it was morning because the sprinkler system went off at 4AM (and fuck was it cold), was a mass of pain, frustration, and alcohol. Jon knew the basic science behind these kinds of things; it was the reason he'd decided he wasn't going to join a frat, even though his father had pressed him to shoot for one of the academic houses. If you wanted to play, to be a part of the team, you didn't say no during indoct. So when the gatorade shots were passed around, he drank. When they went around again, he drank. When the A Team members started shouting out drills, he ran and passed as well as he could in the wet grass with clumsy hands. By the time the fourth round of shots circulated, the insults had started. Everyone was frustrated, uncoordinated due to exhaustion and the ethanol running through their veins, missing passes they should have been able to catch in their sleep as the BC veterans ran circles around them. Some of the very same guys who had smiled and shaken Timothy's hand at the barbecue, making small talk about classes and campus differences, now made comments about the 'fucking fag' and glared openly at Jon as if it was his fault that they were out there in the first place.

Jon wanted to pick the fight, but he didn't. One of the 'rules' that the A Team captain had outlined earlier in the night was that the team didn't fight amongst their own. The BC Ruggers had a reputation to maintain, and it included things like team unity and a notable lack of deaths due to alcohol poisoning. So he just kept his head down, drank when he was told to, and tried desperately to remember the names of his fellow players after they'd been formed into a side to square off against the veteran upperclassmen.

^__^__^

Jon woke up the next morning in a markedly familiar position - on the floor next to his bed, half-wrapped in a sheet and hurting badly enough he wouldn't have cared if the apocalypse had been going on next door. Muttering under his breath, and trying very hard not to think about what exactly his mouth tasted like at the moment, he forced himself up into a sitting position while he tried to remember how he'd ended up on the floor this time. His attempt at tracking backwards through the previous evening's activities - something which was proving damn near futile, which was more than a little disconcerting - was interrupted by a noise coming from his bed. Jon turned, the movement slow so as to keep his stomach from anything violently unpleasant. What he found undercut his earlier intent, the sight of one of his teammates - a naked teammate, by all appearances - lying in his bed had him stumbling for the bathroom before the image had finished processing.

After the dry heaves had stopped, he rested his forehead against the side of the stall and tried desperately to remember what had happened after the start of the scrimmage that morning. All he got for his troubles was an increase in the pounding behind his eyes and another round of dry heaves. He couldn't believe that he would have cheated on Timothy - he loved him, with an almost frightening intensity. But Josh had been lying in his bed, bare-chested and loose-limbed, and that hole in his memory was becoming more terrifying with each attempt to fill the void.

The one piece of good fortune was that it was a Sunday, which meant that the dorm was all but dead at ten o'clock in the morning. After several deep breaths and an almost-successful attempt at talking himself out of a panic attack, Jon pulled himself together enough to rinse his mouth out and return to his room. Josh was still asleep, and from the look of him would be for a while longer. Jonathon winced at the state of the sheets, Josh's muddy feet sticking out down at the foot of the bed; no matter what might or might not have occurred, he was going to have to do laundry regardless. After a moment of debate, Jon gathered his things and returned to the bathroom to shower. While the hot water did nothing to calm the anxiety currently knotting his stomach, it did help with the various aches and pains that inevitably followed a rugby match. In a mixed blessing, his roommate was gone for the weekend due to an obligation with the marching band somewhere in Vermont.

Clean, shaved, and dressed, Jon did the only thing he could think of under the circumstances. He slunk off to the library to hide himself in a back corner and do the next three weeks worth of Western Civ reading. He'd never been one to talk things out, which was probably the only reason why he didn't immediately reach for his cell phone after realizing just what kind of a mess he might-or-might-not be in. That, and he wasn't sure whom he could talk about it with that wouldn't either tell Timothy or simply lecture him on his stupidity; if he wanted the lecture, he didn't need to go anywhere outside of his own brain, thank you very much. By the time he dug the thing out to check the time that evening, he'd managed to accrue several voicemails - two from Timothy, which he immediately skipped, and one from Cooper wanting to compare notes on their respective matches that weekend.

Being enough of a strategist to acknowledge that there was a time when you bit the bullet and did the unpleasant, Jon cued up his contact list and selected Cooper. Out of all of the members of the rugby team Jon still kept in touch with - all of them were on Facebook, but there were only a handful he talked to regularly - Cooper was not only the most laid back, but he was also the most likely to provide good advice where Timothy was concerned. After an initial round of pro forma protest, Cooper had accepted Jon's choice of romantic partners with a surprising lack of comment. Jon was teased, certainly, but more for the fact that he was in love and admitted it than because Timothy was a guy. After glancing around to make sure that no one was nearby to be disturbed by the call, Jon hit "send" and waited for his friend to tell him what the hell he should do.

"Cooper's House of Pain, we flay to your wishes!"

Jon slouched down in his chair, leaning his head against the wall and peering out the window as he settled in for what was likely to be one of the most unpleasant conversations he'd had since getting a cell phone. "Match went that badly, huh?"

"Worse. They fucking killed us, and we lost two guys to injuries for at least the rest of the month." Cooper sounded remarkably cheerful for someone who'd been getting ground into the pitch earlier.

"But?"

"They bumped me up to starting to fill in for one of the guys who busted his knee. So, you know, can't be too upset."

Jon laughed, glad to let his friend have a few minutes worth of bragging rights before he voiced his own, less pleasant, news. "Congratulations on the promotion. I guess that's what comes from going to a school where rugby's not the number two sport."

"Look, man, that was shit luck you getting put on the B team. I don't care if it's tradition, you were fucking good. They're fucking idiots, and you know it."

Jon shrugged, even though he knew Cooper couldn't see him. "Not everything about B Team's bad, even if our matches don't go on record. There's good stuff, too. Or, was, maybe. I don't know."

"Jon..." There was a pause on Cooper's end of the line, and Jon knew he'd said more than he'd intended to. Yes, he wanted to tell someone, but he was having second thoughts about who, and if he should just talk to Timothy, even though that would probably end the best thing that had happened to him in forever.

"You know what, it's nothing. I've just spent the last few hours doing readings for my philosophy class."

"Bullshit. What's going on?"

Jon took a deep breath, pulling himself together in order to explain calmly and rationally, and then let it right back out again because there was just no way that any of this was calm or rational or not fucking up his entire life. "Last night was indoct, and it was bad, I think. But I can't fucking remember, and this morning there was a guy in my bed, and Timothy's going to kill me or he'll just tell me to fuck off, and I shouldn't even be telling you this because this whole thing was just a big fucking messy bad idea."

"Whoa, whoa. Just, slow down a minute. Are you saying you cheated on Timothy? You? Mister 'I found Mr. Right at eighteen and fuck the rest of you'?" Cooper sounded about as disbelieving as Jon's conscience was every time he replayed the morning's events.

Jon nodded miserably, forgetting that Cooper was a thousand miles away in the Greater Chicago area. "At least, I think I did. I just, God, I wish I could fucking remember. And everything hurts, and I do mean everything - they had us running drills last night in the fucking sprinklers, doing Pop-Ups until we couldn't feel our legs."

Cooper made a sympathetic noise. "Ouch. Look, don't take this the wrong way, because I'm just trying to help. When you say everything hurts, is your ass sore?"

"I- no. Not, not like you're asking."

"OK, so that's one problem off your list. Now, you fucked things up, so you're going to have to sort this out. Does the kid you woke up with know you're gay?"

"Why does everyone say that? I mean, yeah, I'm in love with Timothy. But it's not like I've never dated girls or anything."

"Fine, so you're officially bi. What-the-fuck-ever. Does he know you fuck boys?"

"He knows I'm dating Tim, if that's what you mean. All of them do."

"Right, so track him down and ask him what he remembers. It's going to be awkward, but it'll be a hell of a lot worse if you talk to Tim before you know what actually happened."

Jon sighed, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "When did you get to be some almighty relationship guru?"

"Around the time the captain of the rugby team asked me to suck his dick, okay? Now, seriously, track this guy down. Talk to him. Then talk to Tim, because you let this go too long and it's just going to get worse."

"Wait, what?" Last thing Jon had heard, Cooper had been diving into the Northwestern co-ed pool with a vengeance.

"Forget it. Stop stalling, stop freaking out, and go find out what actually happened. When's your next practice?"

"I don't know. I think there was an email about a gym conflict or something, so, um, maybe tomorrow?" Jon knew that he sounded pathetic, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was still hungover, he'd probably fucked up his love life beyond all recovery, and he as going to have to do laundry when he got back to his room because Josh had looked like he'd rolled in mud before whatever else had happened in that bed. The last thing Jon wanted to be thinking about was the rugby team, because they were the reason he was in this mess to start with. His life had been going so well up until this point, it just wasn't fair.

"Okay, so you'll talk to the guy tomorrow. Or you'll talk to someone, but you'll get this straightened out and find out what happened. Right now, you're going to go back to your dorm room. You're going to take a handful of Advil and a couple of Benadryl, you're going to put your headphones in, and you're going to sleep through the night like nothing is wrong. Tomorrow, you're going to find out what the fuck happened last night, and then you're going to call Timothy. Because I am not putting up with this shit for the next month. Comprende?"

"I- fine." Trust Cooper to recommend better living through pharmaceuticals, although at least Benadryl was reasonably innocuous.

Cooper sighed in exasperation, as if following Jon's train of thought from halfway across the continent. "I mean it, Jon. I know you. You'll freak out about this, you won't sleep, you'll drink way too much coffee to make it through classes, and by the time you talk to Tim – and you're not going to put it off more than another day, because he's going to start freaking out that you're not returning his calls – you're going to be so cranked up that you'll fuck things up royally."

"Thanks for the vote of support."

"Look, you cheated on him? You're going to be in the shit, and you'll have it coming. You didn't, you're better off sane when you talk to him. I've seen you on too much coffee, man, and it's not pretty."

Jon winced, because he knew exactly what Cooper was talking about. "I just, what if I fuck this up, Coop? I love him, like, really love him. Hell, if I didn't know that indoct was a one-time thing, I'd quit the fucking team for him. I can't lose him over this."

"Jon, you're eighteen years old. You love him, that's awesome. But if something you can't even remember is a deal breaker, then maybe you're better off finding out now and getting the break-up over with."

"Don't go there, Cooper. Just, don't." Jon consciously relaxed his clenched first, reminding himself that Cooper was just trying to help. Newly discovered zen or not, Cooper's idea of a long-term relationship was two weeks, and he'd never really understood Jon's assertion that Tim was 'the one'. "Look, I've got to go."

"Don't get your panties in a twist, man. Just stating the obvious. Call me when you get it sorted out, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Night, Coop." Jon didn't wait for the reciprocal pleasantry, ending the call and staring at the aging library wall in the vain hope that it would solve his problems. Unfortunately, it proved markedly unhelpful.

^__^__^

Despite his misgivings, Jon took Cooper's advice and had passed out cold once he'd done enough laundry to put sheets back on his bed. The whole procedure of stripping and cleaning the linens had made him regret the stop by the cafeteria, but he wasn't willing to spend another night on the floor. Cooper had been right about the Benadryl, Jon dropped off and slept dreamlessly through the night, to the point where he slept straight through his alarm and woke with only fifteen minutes to make it to his morning class. That set the tone for the day, and he spent the hours before practice scrambling to keep up with his professors' sick midterm delusions of normalcy. Jon wasn't able to forget about the gaping hole in his memory, far from it, but he found that if he concentrated hard enough he could focus on his schoolwork enough to dampen the sick feeling in his stomach.

A sick feeling which came to a head before he even laid eyes on his suspected infidelity. Karl caught him in the hallway on the way into the locker rooms, and pulled him into one of the rooms normally reserved for visiting teams. "How you feeling today, Cordon?"

Jon shrugged off the arm that Karl had thrown over his shoulders. "Fine, I guess."

Karl studied him for a minute, looking him up and down. "You sure? You were pretty messed up after indoct. Took two of us to get you back to your room, and you owe Jackson a big one. He agreed to baby-sitting duty on you when you refused to puke like a good little boy. Said you took off like a bat out of hell Sunday morning."

Jon blinked, relief slowly settling into that cold place in his mind where his memories should have been. "He, um, oh. I see. I, yeah. I'll talk to him." Jon glanced around, making sure that the door behind Karl was still closed. "Listen, I can't do that again."

"Do what?"

"Drink that much. You told me that being on B team means understanding your priorities, and I do. This isn't high school, and there are things I can't afford to fuck up anymore."

Karl was silent, and for a long moment Jon was worried that he'd offended him. "I don't know what your deal is, Cordon, but you're a good player. You want to stick to soda, that's up to you. But if you're going to do that, you're right to stick to the B team."

Jon nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." He took a deep breath, finally allowing it to sink in that he hadn't fucked things up. At least, not as far as he might have. He still couldn't remember, and Timothy was still going to be pissed as hell, but he could work with this. They could work through this. They had to, because he wasn't letting Tim go over something this small and stupid.

^__^__^

Josh was easy enough to find, once Jon got into the locker room, and mollified with the promise of a free drink the next time the B team went out to the 'Nest. He even teased Jon about his insistence on taking the floor, since "it's not like it would be a new experience or anything." Jon had laughed as expected, filing away the comment along with the other references that his teammates made to the missing portions of the night. Nothing seemed to jog his memory, but at least he could build some kind of an idea of what had happened.

The just-cheated-death feeling lasted until about fifteen minutes into practice, at which point he remembered just why Cooper had been so adamant that he be not-chemically-altered for the experience. Between the wind sprints, the Pop-Ups, the buddy-sprints, and the passing drills Jon was ready to call it quits long before practice was over (and he was far from alone, if the mournful looks from his teammates were any indication). By the time they got to the scrimmage portion of practice, Jon was starting to feel light-headed and trying to ignore the fact that he'd skipped lunch. By the time he staggered into the showers with the rest of the crowd, all he wanted to do was curl up and die under the hot water, and then possibly curl up and die in his bed.

Unfortunately, a beeping from his cell phone reminded him that he didn't actually live in a vacuum, and when he dug it out from under the clean clothes in his locker he found that he'd missed another three calls from Timothy. Right. Fuck. He'd forgotten that just because he'd (more or less) sorted things out for himself that didn't mean that they just got better. At the least, he owed Tim an explanation for the fact that he'd been avoiding him all weekend. And that explanation was going to have to involve Indoct, there was no way around it. Which meant another fight about the drinking, even though he was now completely onboard with Timothy's perspective on the binge-drinking issue. God, he wished he knew why this was such a big deal - everyone drank in college, even the 'good' kids. Nights like this, when he decided that maybe a phone call wasn't going to cut it and didn't bother to consider whether driving two hours after practice on an empty stomach was a good idea until he was past Worcester, Jon wished that he'd just pushed the issue and found out what it was that Timothy's father had said to him while under-the-influence.

He'd missed his chance, though, and knew it. Aside from that one late-night conversation, Timothy had steadfastly avoided talking about his father at all. According to him, he "didn't have a father," and Jon had heard just enough conversations between Tim and his mother to know that pushing the issue would get him nowhere. It was also the reason why Jon was currently hovering outside of Timothy's dorm in the pouring rain, waiting to tail-gate his way into the building, instead of sitting in his own dorm room where it was warm and dry (never mind that the parking was free). He'd told Cooper he wouldn't fuck this up, told himself that he wouldn't fuck this up, and there were too many ways for things to go wrong if he tried to do this on the telephone. Even when they managed to get Skype to work, there was still too much room for misunderstanding, and the internet in the BC dorms could be sketchy at times.

After a small eternity, someone decided to brave the weather and Jon was able to get into the dorm. He could have called Timothy, but that might well have led to the very conversation he was trying so hard to have in person. Three flights of stairs and a wet jacket were a small price to pay for the chance to explain what had happened without Timothy shutting him down, and at least the climb helped him to warm back up from his time lurking by the main doors. Timothy's room was second from the end of the hall, and Jon spent a long moment paused in the stairwell reminding himself of why this was such a good idea, as opposed to a horrifically bad one. His parents had always stressed that honesty was the foundation of a good relationship, and he didn't want to be the one to torpedo what he and Timothy had. He just hoped he was doing the right thing, because otherwise he was going to drive out to Evanston and strangle Cooper to within an inch of his life.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Despite the noise of the hallway, the raps seemed to echo in Jon's ears as he lowered his hand. Before he could decide whether this really was the best course of action, however, he was committed as Timothy opened the door and blinked at him in surprise.

"Jonathon?"

"Hey."

Timothy frowned at him, expression fading quickly from surprise to concern. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." Jon's voice was scratchy, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to normalize it. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... You were right, okay?"

"What?"

Jon crossed his arms, and leaned against the doorframe, letting his gaze stray from Timothy to rest on the pile of books beside the bed. "I said, you were right."

Timothy shot him a confused glance, then backed away from the door to let Jon into the room. "I was right. I got that part. I just can't figure out what I was right about."

Jon stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, running a hand through his hair as he tried to pull his thoughts together. They'd seemed so nicely ordered on the drive down, but now they were a mess, and all he wanted to do was blurt out 'I didn't cheat on you!' "About the drinking. And the rugby. And, fuck, Tim, there are some things that just aren't worth screwing around with." He crossed his arms across his chest again, as much to stop the shaking that had started when he'd closed the door as for comfort. He kept his gaze on the floor, wondering idly which professor was making Tim read All Quiet on the Western Front.

"Jonathon..." Timothy took his time with the word, in a way that made Jon's stomach clench and his hands tighten involuntarily. Jon flinched when Timothy placed light fingers under his chin and forced him to look up. "What happened?"

"I don't know. That's the problem. I mean, I think I know, and I sort of know, but I don't know know. It was Indoct, right? And you don't say 'no' at Indoct, that's the point. It's how things are done. But I can't fucking remember. And I already talked to Karl, and I told him I'm not doing that again - that I can't do that again - but I can't take it back." Timothy's hands landed gently on Jon's shoulders, twin patches of warmth slowly easing through the damp windbreaker and the t-shirt beneath. Jon shivered in response, leaning in to rest his forehead against Tim's neck as the building wave of anxiety short-circuited in favor of the sense-memories that accompanied this particular patch of bare skin. He distantly felt the grip on his shoulders lessen and a deepening of the embrace, and for a moment he let himself pretend that everything was going to be fine. "I just wish I could remember."

Timothy murmured something indistinct, guiding Jon over to the bed and sitting down with him. "Let's try this again, because I'm supposed to be the drama queen in this relationship and you're starting to freak me out. What's Indoct?"

"It's this thing the team does after the first home match of the season. Makes the rookies official team members. I mean, I knew what it was, that it was going to happen. I signed on for it, right?"

Jon had signed on for it, and Timothy damn well knew it, but he also knew that it was not the time for that particular discussion.

Jon took the silence for agreement. "My own fault, right? But, Timothy, I swear - if I'd realized it would be that much, that I'd black out, I would have walked away."

"You blacked out?" Timothy's grip tightened involuntarily, and Jonathon cringed.

"The last thing I remember was trying to pass the ball and slipping because the sprinklers had gone off again. I woke up on the floor in my room, no idea how I got there or why one of my teammates was sleeping in my bed." Jon shifted, pushing away from Timothy to try to read his expression. "I spent the rest of the day in the library, trying to remember what happened - that's why I didn't answer my phone. But I still can't remember, and it scares the hell out of me." Jon shivered again, making an effort to keep his hands in his lap instead of fidgeting. Timothy studied him for a long moment, shadows darkening his features due to the lamp on the desk behind him. When he spoke, the words were soft and firm.

"No more." Timothy raised a hand, brushing it tenderly against the side of Jonathon's face before it settled against the side of his neck. "I love you, Jonathon. You know that. But I'm not - I can't - I won't do this if you're going to screw yourself over. I won't be part of it. When we lived in Chicago, some of the kids at school used to party. Not like the rugby team, I mean really party, and they had the cash for it. But every year, we'd get these speeches from the headmaster because somebody OD'd. So if you're out of it, really out of it, then fine. But I'm not going to spend the next three years waiting for a call that you're in the hospital, or that you didn't make it, because my life is fucked enough as it is. And as much as I don't want to lose you, I don't want to lose me more."

Jon closed his eyes, leaning into Timothy's touch as he tried to make sense of the jumble of words. "I talked to Karl, today. You met him at the barbecue; he's captain of the B team. Told him I'm not doing that again, and if it's a problem then I'll walk away." Jon laughed lightly, amusement genuine if thin. "Apparently, I just signed myself out of contention for the A team, but B team doesn't give a rat's ass."

Jon felt rather than heard Timothy's relieved sigh. "Good. I mean, I'm sorry, but... God, Jon. I don't know if I could lose you."

"Right back at you, lover. Right back at you."

It was years later, after dozens of arguments both lesser and more valid, that Jon would learn Timothy had spent the night of the barbecue awake, watching him breathe and making sure that he didn't stop.

~ Finis Part A ~


End file.
